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July 28, 2015

♥♦♥BOOK TOUR PROMO STOP♥♦♥The Hotter You Burn

The Hotter You Burn

New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter is
back with a sizzling Original Heartbreakers tale featuring a troubled playboy
and the woman he can’t resist…

Beck Ockley is ruthless in the boardroom...and the
bedroom. He's never been with the same woman twice, and vows he never will.
With a past as twisted as his, meaningless sex keeps the demons at bay. His
motto: One and done. No harm, no foul.

Harlow Glass is the most hated girl in town. The
beautiful artist is penniless, jobless and homeless. When she sneaks into
Beck's home—her ancestral estate—for food, she's shocked by his early
return...and her immediate, sizzling and intense attraction to him.

For the first time in Beck's life, he can't get a woman
out of his mind. All too soon, friendship blooms into obsession and he'll have
to break her heart...or surrender his own.

Harlow almost bounced out of her seat, but caught herself
with a single thought. Can’t appear too hasty.“Okay,” she
said, playing with the edge of a piece of paper. “If you insist. And if the
price is right.” She’d drawn countless images of Beck, but the thought of
painting him to scale and seeing him in full color intoxicated her. She could
play with different shades of gold, brown and bronze, and even a wealth of
greens to get the emerald flecks hidden so deeply in his eyes just right.

Maybe Kimberly had nailed it. Maybe Harlow had stared at Beck
for reasons that had nothing to do with the job.

“Name a figure.” He slowly, leisurely, walked back to the
couch and eased down, the whiskey in hand. “Whatever it is, lollipop, I’ll pay
it.”

The new endearment startled her, considering he hadn’t used
one these past three weeks. The fact that he’d gone with lollipop, something sweet and edible he’d
never called the others…

I’m special to him.

Oh,
no, no, no. Red alert!Red alert! That was the true danger of him. Somehow, he made everyone feel
special.

“That’s a daring thing to say,” she stated quietly.

“But true nonetheless.”

She placed her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Very
well. The price is…” Inspiration struck, and she smiled evilly. “You can’t have
sex for a week.”

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, but he appeared far from
angry. “Why do you care about my sex life?”

“I care about you, and I think abstinence will help build
character.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You care? Very well, I accept.” No
time to celebrate. “With two caveats,” he added. “The week won’t start until
the painting is done.” He smiled now,
and it was a wicked one. “Also, I want the painting to be a nude.”

Her breath caught in her throat, only to exit on a gust. “I…you…excuse
me?”

“A nude. Meaning I won’t be wearing any clothing. If you
want to strip down, that’ll be okay too.”

This was punishment for daring to impede his sex life, wasn’t
it? “I’ve never actually painted or even drawn what you’re suggesting, and I’m
not sure I have the skill.” Or if she would survive.

“I have complete faith in your ability. And as an artist, a
professional, I’ll expect
you to view me strictly through objective eyes. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Of course,” she said. She could absolutely, one hundred
percent view him through objective eyes…if he wore a cloak of invisibility. But
even then it would be iffy. “Why do you want a nude?” she demanded, hoping to
shame him into retracting his request.

“Maybe I enjoy the thought of disrobing for you.” His voice
had gone low and husky, a caress of unfettered temptation, making her shiver. “Maybe
I like the thought of your eyes on my bare skin and your hands forming the
shapes of my body.”

She gulped. Having only ever dealt with boys, never with
men, she had no idea how to respond to so blatant a statement.

“Or,” he said, his voice returning to its normal fun,
flirty tone. “Maybe I’m narcissistic and want to immortalize every inch of
myself. How is one to know?”

How indeed. “When would you like to start?”

“Tonight.”

I’m going to hate myself for
reminding him of this, but… “What about your date? I can’t—won’t—hurt Kimberly.”

“I think we both know she was about to cancel on me. Which
makes me wonder what the two of you were discussing.”

Shifting uncomfortably, she said, “I will never betray a
confidence.”

“I could change your mind, but I won’t. I admire your
mindset.” His gaze dropped to the pulse fluttering in her neck. “I’ll arrive at
seven, and I’ll bring dinner.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” A lot. And it wasn’t the thought of food
that made her heart race, but the thought of having him in her space. Alone…naked.
Within reach.

She sucked in a breath. Oh…crap. The worst had happened,
hadn’t it?

Kimberly had figured it out, but Harlow had done her best
to deny it until the truth practically vibrated in her bones. How had she ever fooled herself
into thinking she could fall for West…when she’d already fallen for Beck?

“What’s wrong, dove?” he asked gently. He came around the
desk and sat at the edge, turning her chair to trap her between his legs. “You
were twinkles one moment, sullen the next.”

He always read her so well, while she always struggled to
make sense of his moods. Life wasn’t fair. “It’s nothing I want to discuss
right now,” she said, refusing to lie to him. But she had to talk to someone about this.

Who? She had no confidants, and any secrets she revealed to
others could be used as a weapon against her. A game of “humiliate Harlow for sport.”

“What will it take to get you to trust me, hmm?”

Was he serious? “Beck, for the past three weeks you’ve
treated me like I’m a carrier of cholera. Why do you want my trust?”

“You’re my friend.”

But
I want to be more. “Yes,” she said, and
cleared her throat. “You’re right. I am.”

“So talk to me like a friend. Share your past with me. Tell
me what changed you in high school.”

Her mouth went dry. Always they circled back to this. “Forget
I agreed to be your friend. We’re enemies.”

“You’ll tell me what’s easy, but nothing that’s hard.”

“I don’t like to think about what changed me. It hurts.”

“Pain fades. Rip off the bandage and give the wound a
chance to heal.”

“No.” If she told him, she’d have to show him. If she
showed him, he’d never want her again. And right now he wanted her. He had to.
The way he was looking at her…

He leaned down until his nose almost brushed against hers.
“One day, Harlow, you’ll open up to me.”

“One day,” she whispered. “Maybe. But probably not.”

He cupped her nape, the heat of him making her gasp. “Definitely.
And in more ways than one. I’ll make sure of it.”

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ICYMI Q&A With GENA

Q:
Harlow’s scars affect her overall body image- how important was that for you to
write?

GS:
Everyone I’ve ever known has wanted to change something about their body.
Different hair, different shape, different height. Some things are easy
fixes. In elementary school, I was called Mustache Girl. And I only
wish I was kidding. Thankfully, though, I learned wax is my friend.
I was also called Casper for the glaringly whitish hue of my skin—and an
assortment of other names—and I in turn called other kids hateful names.
That’s why, on some level, I think everyone can relate to Harlow’s
plight. I wanted to show different is beautiful.

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ABOUT GENA SHOWALTER

Gena Showalter is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author whose
works have appeared in Cosmopolitan and
Seventeen magazines, as well as Entertainment Weekly. Her novel Red Handed has been optioned by Sony
Television. Critics have called her books “sizzling page-turners” and “utterly
spellbinding stories,” while Showalter herself has been called “a star on the
rise.” Her mix of humor, danger and wickedly hot sex provides wildly sensual
page-turners sure to enthrall.